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Whose Fish Is It?
New
Years Eve 1999!
The final moments of the big millennium.
I don’t know about you folks but I’m about Y2K’d out.
You know how IT people are though.
Lots of planning, discussing, and words to scare and worry the people
that actually do the work so as to give the impression that they are totally
the saviors of the company and worth every penny of their exorbitant salary.
I think I have already been invited to attend a pre-Y3K meeting.
Well
anyway, I digress!
Part of the Fox Harbor brain trust decided the safest place to be when
this world ending event hit would be a beautiful lodge on an island in the
northern most part of
Minnesota that is totally self sufficient and non-reliant of the every
day luxuries like phones, television, electricity, running water, waitresses,
and adult book stores.
The
ride up was free of the normal white out conditions and ice covered roads.
There was rumor of one vehicle being attacked by a forest but that
turned out to be a case of passenger obstruction.
We had the normal check-in at Jerry’s Library and then across the
frozen water to our cold safe haven.
Now
you have to remember that the FHL team is comprised of a mix of experts that
meld perfectly into a well oiled camping and fishing machine.
The electrician stealthily searched out the circuit box and proceeded
to totally rewire the entire cabin.
The wood procurer boldly sat down by a huge pile of wood and proceeded
to drink beer.
The facilities manager discreetly set up what is passionately referred
to as “the
bucket”. The
cook stumbled around and plopped down by the grill with 12 pack in hand and I
unloaded all of the equipment and supplies.
The
next morning the bombardier showed up promptly at 7:30 (editor’s note: a
Bombardier is a giant van on skis that resembles a pregnant beetle from
space.) and away we went.
Everyone with high expectations!
Each person had their own rationalization and perfectly good logic as
to why this day was going to be the day we really laid into them.
A catch your limit, go back and sit by the fire kind of a day.
My logic was that the fish had not been biting so they were bound to
turn on with the current changing of the weather.
Mike’s logic was that this year he would try using live bait and not
set the hook quite so hard.
Ed’s logic was that it said “Fish Here” on his map (he was just
happy to have made it), and Hoser’s approach was that this year he was not
going to pick up a single magazine.
Denny’s plan was simple, this year he WAS going to change underwear
before returning home!
Well
anyway, after 5-6 hours of solving many world issues, fixing three
relationships, and a brief discussion of what makes women tick and how can we
please them more we were bored.
At that point one starts to get up off his chair a lot and peruse the
fish house in search of snacks, reading material and to cover someone else’s
line should they need to get up for the same purpose. This is a common
practice and considered a courtesy to your shack-mates.
Well it’s at this point that the story turns to the very real
question of morality and honesty.
Honesty is the basic fiber that bonds all fishermen and sportsmen.
More powerful than blood or the simple
“I Do”.
In
this episode the “author” in a friendly gesture, reached out the fish
house door to retrieve his fishing partner a refreshment and sure enough, a
bobber went down.
Now remember when everyone first shows up in the house in the morning
they get out their secret lures and presentations, some of which are precise
enough to rival the detailed handywork of brain surgeons or bartenders.
Basically
it is the specifics of “that” rig that sets his presentation apart and
ultimately decides the success of the day.
Well, noticing the bobber dive deep into the hole I……er….the
author woke up his buddy and said, “Scott, will you please gently retrieve
MY nice 27” walleye that I have caught.”
He
appeared to be struggling and as the fish appeared in the hole it started
flopping uncontrollably and for fear the house may be tipped over by its size
and strength the author calmly and expertly and without hesitation gilled the
monster microseconds before its inevitable escape back to the cold dark water
of Lake of the Woods.
Since
this incident there has been some confusion as to “whose fish is this?”.
I would like to interject an analogy at this point that may remove any
shred of doubt as to whose fish that was.
In the bow hunting ethical code book there was sometimes confusion as
to whose deer it was when one hunter would hit a deer and a buddy (I use the
term loosely) would maybe trail the blood the next day and retrieve the deer
either by shooting it again or finding it dead.
The rule is “First Blood” owns the deer.
I relate that to the rigging of the line as basically drawing first
blood because any subsequent activity is simply retrieving dead game.
Well
I’m pretty swamped and I can’t spend anymore valuable work time on this
issue. But I leave you with this one question.
Whose
Fish Is It?
David Maguire
2/2/00
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